


Modern Love

by Pictsies



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, PRATCHETT Terry - Works
Genre: Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Confused Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, M/M, Multi, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 08:16:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19970887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pictsies/pseuds/Pictsies
Summary: Aziraphale, all aglow, in a new suit, is traveling with Crowley to a wedding.  And he discovers something he never knew.





	Modern Love

“Angel, I have no idea, none, why you’d think they would want me there,” Crowley groused as they drove towards Tadfield. He looked positively spiffing in his fine black suit with a starched white shirt. “No tie, Angel,” he had practically growled at Aziraphale as he saw the suit and small black bowtie. “I’ll wear the suit, but not that.” Aziraphale had consented to wear a new confection of ivory linen, it was, after all, a special occasion, and he hadn’t had something this lovely and new in ages. 

Aziraphale nervously patted his pocket, checking for the tickets and reservation packet. A holiday in Edinburgh was a perfect gift, of course Crowley had suggested it, the dear thoughtful thing. They arrived in a trice, parking in a field near the tiny tumble-down church. “Oh, how charming!” he breathed, before remembering. “My dear, are you most certain you want to try to enter?” The former demon mumbled something about surviving churches before, exited the car, and walked through the door. Aziraphale bustled along, trying to catch him up. He had taken a seat in the rear pew, shooing away a well-meaning young fellow, oh, what was his name, a dear boy who was a friend of Adam Young. An odd name for a little boy, something about a cheese perhaps. 

“Crowley,” he whispered as he settled hesitantly in the seat next to him, “Are you all right? It doesn’t….hurt….does it? I’m so sorry, I, well, I just thought, they’d want you here, they asked…” Crowley shushed him. “I’m fine, not on that side anymore, just a little tingle.” He crossed his long legs at the ankle, and his arms against his chest. “ ‘m alright.” “Crowley, dear, are you most certain?” He twisted the ornate program the young chap had thrust into his hands. The former demon raised his brows. “Stop your worrying, listen, the music’s started.” They then stood and watched Miss Marjorie Potts enter, blushing and wearing a pale pink dress with perhaps a few too many faux roses in her hair with several others sewn onto the bodice and small train. She walked slowly until she met a former Witchfinder Sergeant at the end of the aisle. Aziraphale sniffled unashamedly throughout, making liberal use of his hankie. 

The bebop they played during the dancing was of a gentler sort, so very sweet. Crowley said it was from 1950s America. It came soon after the charming hors d'oeuvres and delightful luncheon that featured Shepherd’s Pie. So charming and rustic, and the fruitcake was wonderfully traditional. He had told Madame Marjorie Shadwell so. She beamed. “Glad you liked it, dear, Mr. Shadwell did insist on having ‘good, honest food’ as he said.” He basked in the love radiating from the dear lady, but felt a massive bolt of the same sort approaching from their right. “Ah, my bonnie gal, there you’ve been, and hello there, Mr. Fell!” Love looked good on Shadwell, a right proper gentleman he seemed today, hair and beard tamed, in a morning suit. He pressed his lips against her temple. “And we thank ye, Mr. Fell, what a nice surprise, going to show my lovely bride to me cousins, think how jealous they’ll be, me married to an angel on this very earth.” He pressed his wife’s fingers to his lips. “Oh, Mr. Shadwell!” she whispered, blushing, as Aziraphale sighed. This was bliss, their love. 

“Marjorie, yooohooo, we’re off” waved a lady behind them. “Excuse me, Mr. Fell, I’ll just see Beryl off.” She bustled away, all peach and peonies in her change of costume for the meal. “Ah, Mr. Fell, isn’t she a vision? Always was, what she sees in an old sod like me, I’ll ne’er know for certain.” He slapped Aziraphale on the shoulder, not too hard. “You know, fool I was for years, Mr. Fell, years. It was her sweet voice that answered the phone when e’er ye called, you know. Made sure I had good things to eat, kept me healthy. She’s a fine cook, learnin’ to make clootie dumplins’ e’en! Seemed to show up out of the firmament itself when I came home, always tryin’ to say a kind word to me. Didn’t pay no mind when I said such vile things to her, always there, watchin’ out for me. Still a showin’ up, helpin’ me out, as lovely as a dove. A damned fool I was, sir, blind to the love of a good woman.” Aziraphale, half listening, half basking in this glow, nodded. “I did feel it, Sergeant, when…well, when she helped me that day….” Aziraphale knew Shadwell had certain feelings about him possessing his lady, “how ardently she adored you.” Shadwell smiled, of all things, smiled. “Aye, you know, Mr. Fell, she’s the kind that shows you her feelings, doesn’t say it, but does small kindnesses, that’s how you know. She said the other day, somethin’ like the words of her love was acts of service, such a clever thing she is, like a poet.” Aziraphale stopped basking. His human heart seemed to have stopped. His breath came in short gasps. Mrs. Shadwell returned, slipping under her husband’s proffered arm. Shadwell glanced about. “Where’s Mr. Crowley? I’d have thought he’d be about for dancing, he seems the type to enjoy a good whirl.” Aziraphale somehow found the words to excuse himself, “I’m not certain, he was just here a moment ago, I’ll go check.” At least, that is what he hoped he said, as the Shadwells seemed to wear worried expressions as he back away. He retreated, gasping, until he found himself in a small cupboard off the side of the hall’s canteen. 

Could Crowley, no, could Crowley? No. Couldn’t be. Could it? Always popping up just in the very nick of time, helping him out, gracious, look at that time in the church. Always a kind word or gesture, even as the heavenly host had treated him so shamefully. No, couldn’t be. He’d certainly have felt it if Crowley loved him, wouldn’t he, well, that solved that. Didn’t it? He was just being a kind friend, certainly. Aziraphale dusted off the new suit, such a lovely thing, Crowley had nipped down to some village in Italy to have it made as a surprise since he had fretted about not having a thing to wear to a formal occasion on a warm day. Crowley had delivered it to the bookshop after two days’ absence, holding the garment cover in both hands. “It’s all right if you don’t like it, Angel, but, it’s a color you like, and you wanted something for the wedding.” He had tossed it onto the side table and seemed to focus on his wine glass with earnest. Aziraphale had gasped when opening the bag, touching the fabric and thanked Crowley for such a lovely gift. Crowley had only responded with an “hmph”. He had ran to his study, dressing quickly, declaring each item a wondrously perfect fit, and returned, spinning in place. Crowley had been silent for a moment, but soon, in a quiet voice, suggested luncheon. They had gone to that little patisserie with the delightful spinach quiche, and the silly serpent, he didn’t eat a thing, just watched Aziraphale eat that wondrous flaky crust, chin in hand, only speaking when spoken to, in such a soft voice….

Aziraphale sat down then, mind ceasing all thoughts, hard upon the floor of the tiny cupboard. 

He exited the side door after a few moments, golden light and the sounds of frivolity at his back, heading into the darkness of the garden. Searching with night-blinded eyes, he could vaguely discern a slim silhouette, pressed with back against the door of an elegant antique motorcar. The head of this figure was tilted, pressed against the roof of the car, just above the driver’s entry, gazing upwards at the night sky. Crowley couldn’t feel those things about him. Not imperfect, blubbering, soft buffoon he was. Not someone so utterly, heart wrenchingly beautiful as Crowley. Kindness itself, utterly brilliant, dear, dear Crowley. Certainly he had done some minor mischief, it was his old job after all, but such utter gentleness lurked inside him. He allowed his eyes to fill with tears he could not shed, just for a moment, before walking slowly towards the Bentley. 

“Hey, Angel,” drawled the former demon, still looking upwards, “thought you’d stay inside a bit longer. Decent party they’ve got going.” “I, well, just wanted some air and wondered where you’d gone off to.” He moved to stand near the back of the motorcar. “It’s a lovely evening for stargazing.” He concentrated on keeping his voice steady, the delicate bubble of hope he held in his chest after speaking with dear besotted Shadwell fit to burst. “It is,” responded Crowley. Hmmmm. A bit terse. “Well, if you’re ready to go, Crowley, I’ll just say good night to Marjorie”. He turned, and began to walk away. “Angel,” Crowley whispered, turning his face, “stay as long as you like. I’m fine here, I swear.” Aziraphale stopped, turning and dropping his gaze to the ground. “Well, certainly I’ll stay a bit, it is a lovely party, I’ll just wait for you to go back in.” Crowley’s face returned to his starry vigil. “I’ll just stay out here, it’s all right, go ahead.”

Something was the matter with Crowley. You don’t know a soul for 6,000 years and not know when they are having a bad time of it. He had been quiet and moody all day. There had been days of late when he barely spoke, unless he was deep in his cups. “Crowley, dear, whatever is the matter? I thought we were having a lovely outing, seeing our friends, and you seem, well, down in the dumps, as the children say these days.” “I’m fine, go back in. I just want to stay pleasantly ever-so-slightly drunk on Shadwell’s whiskey and gaze at the sky for a bit.” He raised himself to full standing, turning slightly away, and crossed his arms. “Crowley, dear, please, tell me, I can try to help” and not understanding exactly why he did it, Aziraphale stepped forward and gently laid his hand on Crowley’s arm, just below the elbow. 

Not one sound of breathing came from Crowley, no rebuke, not a movement. He stood, inhumanly still, and moved his gaze to Aziraphale’s fingers. “Oh” breathed Aziraphale, pulling his hand away, “I’m sorry. I’ll go say good night and we’ll be off when you’re ready.” He turned and positively dashed for the door. He stopped inside the frame, chiding himself for being such a blithering numbskull. “You know he doesn’t like to be touched, simpleton!” he furiously whispered to himself, “I hope he’s not too angry.” Aziraphale turned, just to glance at the fallen one’s response, only to find Crowley delicately touching the spot over which his hand had lain. Caressing the coarse fabric of the dinner jacket. So tenderly. His gaze was downwards, his focus taken, and he did not note Aziraphale’s approach. Aziraphale, you bloody idiot, hurry, you must at least try, be not afraid for once, just try, you can always ask his forgiveness….

Aziraphale stopped when he was in touching distance, and took the no longer demon’s face in his hands. He screwed up his courage as Crowley slowly raised his eyes, and pressed his lips firmly in place against Crowley’s own. Crowley’s hands fell to his sides as he gasped, still with lips touching. Aziraphale pulled away suddenly, “Crowley, please, I’m sorry, please, I’m ever so sorry, I, well, have no excuse.” He wrung his hands. Crowley wasn’t moving, barely breathing, eyes agog behind their dark lenses. “Crowley, dear? I apologize, please don’t be too angry, I’m ever so very sorry, it’s just, well…” he noted Crowley’s lack of any movement. “My dear, are you all right? I haven’t hurt you, have I? Please, dearest, please speak to me, and forgive me, please. I couldn’t bear it if you were angry, please.” A tear, one of those damned tears that were denied earlier, rebelled and fell. 

“Angel,” whispered Crowley after a heartbeat, “Angel, don’t cry”. He reached with a trembling hand, and wiped the tear away. Aziraphale felt it then, the simmering, just below the surface, love in Crowley. That soft touch revealed all. Massive waves of adoration and affection crested and ebbed in Crowley’s heart, all directed at him. It was a wonder he had not felt it before, when inside Crowley’s body. But then, didn’t he feel warm and safe while he was the loveliest being to ever exist? Was that it? Crowley took the majority share of the love with him, leaving a bit behind. When you contain the ocean, you would not notice a few stray drops. 

Aziraphale gathered up his courage, and pressed his lips to Crowley’s again, this time, without abandon. Damn the consequences. He felt arms reach around him, encircling him, gathering him closer. Oh, this, Aziraphale thought, this is what love feels like. He surrendered to the pull of the tides as the waves crashed over his very being.

The newlyweds gazed at the couple in the car park through the doorway. They had sought out a stolen moment alone before dancing the night away. “About damned time, eh, my dove?” grumbled Shadwell, smiling fondly down at his bride, “About damned time.” “That it is, Mr. Shadwell,” she answered. “That it most certainly is.”

Do come visit me at [Tumblr](https://pictsies-crivens.tumblr.com/) and say hi! Apologies for the Fluff, [ last one I wrote ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905223) was so full of angst, I needed this :)


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